Warmth
by Diporae
Summary: Raphril 2k12. It's been more than a little difficult since the invasion. With Leonardo comatose, Raphael keeps constant vigil over his brother. All April wants to do is help. One-shot.


Warmth

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 **A/N I do not own TMNT, but I am forever grateful for their existence.  
Some 2k12 because I've been feeling all the Raphril feels lately and am so very tired of studying.**

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She wasn't really sure what she could do to help. He had essentially locked himself in the bathroom for days, mimicking the unresponsiveness of the brother whose company he currently shared. Yet, she understood. Part of her wanted to do the exact same thing.

Life was simpler in that white tiled strewn room. With no windows to confer the passage of time, there was no cycling sun to betray each moment as a little less full of hope than the one before. The tub full of water certainly wouldn't be a constant nagging reminder of their dismal financial situation. If anything, every subtle ripple in the lukewarm pool instead gave a drop of toxic optimism that he might still awaken.

It was a room of the present. The here and now. It was limbo. The purgatory that meant no progress for any of them and no foray into the disastrous past they all yearned to escape. Instead it was just an ivory porcelain tub, a cracked dull mirror, and a turtle whose every rise and fall of his chest proved that a semblance of life still remained somewhere within that broken shell.

April understood. If she were Raphael, she would find her asylum there too. But she wasn't. She was April, and she had a janian draw of both masochism and self-preservation that kept her from that little room on the second floor. It was easier somehow. Yet, every moment she stayed away left her insides more and more shriveled within.

Or maybe the heart of winter's frigid breath was just finally getting to her.

Soft aloof snowflakes claimed the horizon, its cobalt canvas gradually draining all aurous red as the night took hold. As was often the case since their arrival, Donatello and Casey took refuge in the barn. With the little space heater puffing out as much thermal energy as it dared in the straw-dusted space, the two teens argued in what was steadily becoming a comforting banter of false aggressive bravado. Michelangelo meanwhile had gathered Ice Cream Kitty in her cooler, and using the frigid air to the mutant feline's delight, set about exploring the nearby woods with his lactose-composed companion. That left April with almost full run of the tired farmhouse, excluding of course the tiled refuge of the two turtles on the floor above.

Thus, April found herself alone in the living room staring at a reflective television screen wondering if it was even worth turning on. Goodness knows she had met little viewing pleasure from the antiquated device since their arrival. Their three choices encompassed bad cartoons solely of Michelangelo's taste, the weather channel, or the endless feed of their city slowly being overrun with aliens who sought to steal all things dear. Unsurprisingly, none of these options intrigued her in the slightest. Instead all she was left with was a gnawing coldness that she desperately yearned to alleviate.

With cold cracking joints that were far too young to be arthritic, April gathered herself from the sofa to the kitchen. A warm cup of tea would not cure the root of her internal frostbite, but at least it would give her some respite. After all, physically she could not deny the house was indeed far from balmy. Not only was its poor insulation more than lacking, but those dark winter nights and ruthless arctic-like winds left them all a little frozen these days. Never mind the fact that their ever-dwindling funds meant they could ill afford to bring the house to a comfortable ambient temperature. It meant even with thick wool socks and layer upon layer of sweater, April found herself far from comfortable most of the time.

But she supposed at least it was a distraction from _other_ gut-wrenching matters.

Diverting her mind to the task at hand, she soon had the kettle put to work. After a moment of watching the orange chipped ceramic relic, she made her decision. Setting herself to the stairs, she chewed at her cheek determined to ask. With any luck she would be able to lure him out of the room if only for the time it took to down a mug, and if not, well, at least she could say she tried.

A delicate shove to the wooden door later, April found himself back in an all-too familiar setting: Raphael hunched over on a stool staring into nothing despite his eyes firmly settled in his brother's direction. It often seemed as though neither turtle ever moved. Obviously Leonardo could not, but what Raphael was doing to himself was nothing less than torture. Releasing her cheek from her teeth, April summoned the cheeriest charm she could muster, "Hey Raph! I'm making tea do you want some?"

"No."

One syllable. That's all she got. She stalled for time, "It doesn't have to be tea. We still have hot chocolate."

"I'm fine," His voice was dry – clipped, "Thanks."

Up two syllables, April figured it was a positive sign to stand her ground a little longer, "Come on Raph, it's freezing in here. I'm sure you could use something to warm you up. If you want I could even dive into Donnie's coffee stash. He's in the barn so he'll have no idea who it was, which means he'll blame Casey and not us."

A massive sigh escaped the turtle before razor-sharp words cut into her, "I don't need any of Don's damn coffee April! All I want is to be alone!"

Although his voice had not grown in volume, his intent was clear, and it left April blinking back tears. Not that it mattered if they fell, Raphael refused to look at her. However, he would hear the choke in her voice if she spoke, and so without another word, she spun around and softly closed the door in her wake. Fleeing with her frustratingly fragile feelings to the floor below, April only detoured to the kitchen momentarily to flick the burner off. She didn't even bother filling her mug; she was no longer in the mood for anything. Instead, she returned to the living room, and promptly wrapped herself in a throw before curling up in the arm chair by the window, opting to watch the swirling snow fall as she surrendered herself to her hurt.

Angrily swiping away at her tears, April cursed silently to herself. This is what she got for trying to be helpful, kind, _there_ for Raphael. She wanted to support him; she wanted to be _something_ to him. Wrinkling her nose at her stupidity she continued to berate herself. Yet, no amount of self-punishment would change what she knew had been slowly creeping through her heart these last few months. She had told no one. She could barely even admit it to herself, and apparently it was going to stay that way.

She supposed it was for the better. After all who had time for such nonsense when there were friends to heal and aliens to defeat? Certainly not her. April O'Neil knew where her priorities lay. She just wished her heart would get the stupid memo already.

"Hey."

So wrapped up she had been in her vortex of emotions, she had been completely surprised to hear his voice. Flinching in shock, April immediately tried to hide any of evidence of her sad little tears with the sleeve of her sweater. When she saw his brow wrinkle in concern, she stopped. Why bother now? She had been caught.

"Here."

Suddenly a brown mug was shoved under her nose. Warm curling tendrils of steam twisted up from the golden liquid within. "What?"

"The bag was sitting in the mug on the counter. It's yours isn't it?"

April nodded, feeling a new redness flourish on her cheeks, "Yes, it's mine."

If it was possible the tea moved closer, "Here."

"Um..." Gently she took the mug from his large hand and could not help but blush further when her fingers brushed over his own, "Thanks."

Raphael simply nodded in response before looking away to study the wall. After a long moment he muttered, "I didn't mean to upset you."

Her heart hammered beneath her sternum as she tried to brush it off, "I'm fine, don't worry about it."

Tilting his head back to meet her eyes, he looked more than a little doubtful at her claim, but he let it go, "Doesn't matter if you're "fine." I'm still sorry."

April was more than a little flabbergasted and at her loss for words Raphael stumbled on, "Uh…" He rubbed a hand through his mask tails, "If you want to be alone I can leave."

Springing to her feet, April lunged for his hand as he began to turn, "No!"

He met her with an eye ridge cocked and when she spoke again she try to compose her voice as much as possible, "I mean, I'm good to hang out if you are."

"Cool." Raphael nodded before looking at his hand still grasped in her own.

More than a little flustered, April whipped away her pale fingers, and with her yellow throw still hanging on her shoulders, made a course for the room off the kitchen. Currently it was Casey's make-shift bedroom, but it was also brimming with dusty old paperbacks. The turtle followed close – wonderfully close – behind her, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sick of what's on TV." She began to trace her nail over the books' bindings, "I'm thinking we could find something good in here and read it out loud."

April could hear the grin in his voice, "I'm game for that."

Finally, a moment later, April pulled out what she had been searching for, "Ever read "East of Eden?""

"Like the garden?"

"Yes and no." April smiled sheepishly as she spun to face him, "It's kind of hard to explain."

Raphael shrugged, "If you think it's good I'll give it a shot."

The two returned to the couch in the living room and once Raphael sat, April purposely unwrapped herself from her blanket to throw it over the both of them as she nestled in beside him. As she began to read, Raphael draped an arm over her shoulders.

And never had April felt so joyously warm.


End file.
